


because you're mine (I walk the line)

by AnnaofAza



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: (and all that nice conflict that comes with that), Adora's head is a mess but we get it, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Glimmer (She-Ra) is a Good Friend, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s05e05 Save the Cat, Season/Series 05, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Season 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: They've rescued Catra. Now what?Or,The first time Adora brings her a tray, Catra throws it against the wall.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 386





	because you're mine (I walk the line)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CruelisnotMason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/gifts).



> Thank you to CruelisnotMason/CruelisB because this is my very first catradora fic, and she fueled my excitement and emotions (and believe me, there were a lot) post-S5! <3 
> 
> Title is taken from "I Walk the Line," and I have to recommend the Halsey version of this one ;)

Catra refuses to see anyone but Adora, and at first, Adora takes that as a good sign. 

But, she soon discovers that her presence is reluctant, even perfunctory, and Adora can’t help but feel crushed. It’s stupid, she knows, in the middle of a war and a planet-wide invasion that she’s worrying about whether Catra _likes_ her, of all things. 

It doesn’t stop it from hurting. 

Catra is vitriol and spit ( _piss and vinegar,_ she’d say, even when they were kids and should have no concept of curse words--though, a concept of conquering was still a possibility). Adora suspects she would throw the trays of food and water she’d carried to Catra, as gingerly as a temple offering, if she wasn’t so exhausted. Other times, Catra pulls the covers over her head and flat-out ignores Adora.

What did she expect? That Catra would suddenly take her hands and squeeze them and sing words of praise? Maybe spending all that time with the princesses had made her too optimistic. 

But there _is_ good in Catra. How could there not be?

* * *

Eyes glowing green and with a fiendish, empty leer on her face, voice blurred with Hordak Prime’s. Hair, shorn to reveal that _thing_ on her neck, poisonous and clawed. Catra, fighting, struggling, reaching out. 

_You should have stayed away. We both know I didn’t matter._

_I’m going to take you home! I promise!_

Catra, crying out in pain as electricity wracked through her body. 

Catra, falling. 

And then, _rage_ \--not hot and burning red and untamed, but cool and restrained and precisely unleashed. A sword in her hand, Catra in the other, _I’m going to take you home_ reverberating in her veins as strongly--if not stronger--than She-Ra’s power. 

It ends with Adora gasping for breath, covers thrown to the floor. Glimmer is often there--Adora sleeps better with at least another breath near her--and always hugs her, fierce and protective. 

“Catra,” Adora always says. “Where is she? How is she?” 

And she never waits for an answer. Adora goes herself and finds her, like an autopilot, like the call to She-Ra, like her true North.

* * *

The first time Adora brings her a tray, Catra throws it against the wall. 

The metal vibrates around the room, the glass of water shattering, with gray mush--which reminds her of the Horde’s rations--in a splatter across the floor. 

“If you don’t like it, I can get you something else,” Adora tries. She doesn’t really know if there _is_ actually another option, but she’ll try, of course. 

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything.” Catra crosses her arms, flops back on her bed. “I don’t want _you_.” 

Adora flinches. _That’s not fair,_ she wants to say. 

A part of her wants to throw that back at Catra’s face. _You have never not wanted me. Even when I left--_ But, no. That’s too cruel, and it won’t solve anything. 

“Catra,” she says instead. _But I want you._ “Please. I’m your friend, and I want you to get better. And getting better means eating something. I don’t want you to…” 

“Adora.” Catra’s voice is sharper. “Leave. Me. Alone.” 

“Fine,” Adora snaps. “But clean up the mess.” 

She turns on her heel and storms away. 

Nothing can get under her skin like Catra. Like that was ever going to change.

* * *

“It was unexpected, but yeah,” Glimmer says, during one of their vigils on the deck. “Out of all people, I didn’t expect Catra to do what she did.” 

“But why do you think she did it?” Adora presses. Glimmer’s probably getting tired of being asked that question, but besides Entrapta (sort of), Adora’s the only one who lets Glimmer talk to her. Even now, she keeps glancing at Bow, pleading in her eyes, but they’re still like opposing magnets, separated by an invisible wall and can’t quite touch.

Glimmer shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess...well, her plan was to move up in Hordak Prime’s command, like she did with the Horde. But that didn’t go well, of course. _But_ ,” she stresses, noticing the look on Adora’s face, “before then, I think she was lonely. She came to talk to me, a lot, even when she was ordered not to.” 

“What did you talk about?”

“Home.” A smile comes to Glimmer’s face, wistful and full of hope. “I imagined...you and me and Bow stealing a cake from Bright Moon’s kitchens, and maybe that can happen when it’s all over.” 

_When it’s all over._ It seems like a dream--no, dreams are sometimes within reach. A fantasy. 

Glimmer seems to have the same idea; she pauses, her smile like lightning, disappearing without a trace, likely remembering how much the odds are against them. 

“Did...Catra have any friends in the Fright Zone?” 

Adora thinks, but it sadly doesn’t take very long. “Not really. Why?” 

“She said she had no one,” Glimmer says. “I didn’t want to think it was true.”

 _Did_ Catra have no one? 

That’s the question she’s turned around in her head for what seems like hours, as Entrapta wrestles with Darla’s wires and buttons and all the things _no one_ , especially Adora, is allowed to touch. 

No, she thinks. She had Adora. She _always_ had Adora. 

It had been Shadow Weaver who had brought them together, ironically--literally kidnapping Adora from birth to bring her into a universe where there was Catra. Adora had--well, sort of crash-landed into her life and wouldn’t let go. 

But sometimes it seemed Catra was afraid to let her go, too. They clung to each other, especially in early days, when childhood teasing and stealing personal possessions seemed like the greatest cruelties in the universe. They were sparring partners, meal buddies, beds next to each other, then teammates--one thing about the Fright Zone is that you were allowed (but could be overruled) to pick their squad members. 

They’d both known they would always choose each other. 

“What did you two whisper about in the Horde?” Glimmer then asks. 

Adora’s taken back at the sudden, out-of-nowhere question. Or maybe it’s not--with her mind wandering to the past again. “What?”

Glimmer shifts her feet. “I mean, when we were on Hordak Prime’s ship, she mentioned you roomed together. As cadets.” 

Adora flushes. 

They’d whisper about what they could do in the Horde--fantasies of being Force Captain and defeating the princesses once and for all--but never about _them_. 

If something... _it_ wouldn’t have been prohibited--relationships (to an extent) were considered useful for trust and loyalty for the Horde. Shadow Weaver might have raised objections, though, especially with Catra, but…

Love wasn’t taught in the Fright Zone; it’s only when she got out and found Bow and Glimmer and the Princess Alliance that kindness and friendship was not only a possibility, but encouraged. 

And really, they weren’t _at_ that point. They were always walking on a line, swaying and seeing each other on the other side, but not daring to move. 

Things haven’t changed in that regard. 

“Just...stuff,” Adora says weakly. “What else did she talk about?”

“You’d play tricks on someone, and oh,” Glimmer’s voice becomes lighter, shoving her playfully, “do your _I’m on the battlefield_ sleep routine.” 

Adora shoves her back, laughing. “Oh, stop.”

* * *

There was nothing. That was the truth. 

But it didn’t feel like it.

* * *

She’s She-Ra again, chasing Catra through the Fright Zone, the Whispering Woods, the Crystal Castle, everywhere they’ve been, Catra laughing and leaping from structure to structure. She looks back, eyes glowing in the dark, and every time Adora comes close, she runs, disappearing like smoke through her hands. 

Her legs feel like melting candle wax, but she keeps going, heart beating in time to her footsteps, ears attuned to every footstep, snap of a branch, scraping of claws, chortled snicker. 

She reaches a hand out pleadingly, her sword no longer in her grip. _“Catra!”_ she screams.

But no one comes.

* * *

Catra had trembled in her arms, for a long time, claws digging painfully into Adora’s arms, but she refused to let go. 

“Don’t take me back there,” she’d pleaded, so quietly that only Adora could hear her, even with Bow and Glimmer at a respectable, semi-wary distance. 

“Never,” Adora had promised. She imagined turning the ship around and raining down vengeance and fury on Hordak Prime’s ship, making him pay a thousand times for what he had done, sword flashing with white-hot fire. 

But she was needed here. Catra needed her. 

“Catra,” she whispered, unsure what to say. They clearly were exhausted, but she was afraid, so much that it dug into her chest and smothered her breath, that if Catra’s eyes closed, they’d close for good. That whatever she’d done as She-Ra was just temporary, a last burst of strength. She’d seen that in the Horde, in the Rebellion, enough of a spark to complete last requests or speak their final words, then nothing. 

A hand cupped her cheek. 

“Adora,” Catra managed, as fragile as a secret. 

“I promised you,” Adora said. “I won’t leave you. And you have to promise me that, too.”

* * *

_If I wasn’t She-Ra, Catra would be dead._

It comes to her like a punch. She sits up in the middle of the night, blanket tangled around her waist, hair falling into her face. Adora reaches up to swipe it aside, but realizes that her eyes are wet. 

Catra, too still, too limp in her arms, barely breathing without a small, horrible rattling in her throat. In that moment, Hordak Prime won in a way no one else had. 

And if Catra...if she...everyone else would have died. She’d ignored all logic, all warnings; she just knew she had to get to Catra, no matter what, steady and unresisting, the same inner pull and guidance she had the first time as She-Ra. 

It would have been her fault. 

She shivers, taking deep, shallow breaths like Perfuma taught her. 

But every instinct, every thought is concentrated on one thing: _You have to be She-Ra._

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks once. 

Catra glares. “Sure, do you want to braid each other’s hair and dance around with flowers, too?” 

“Stop it, Catra,” Adora sighs, feeling frustration rise again. “Just…” 

“No.” Her voice is sharp, and as she turns away, the chip glows green, the tiny silver legs in a six-pointed star, digging into her skin. Adora wonders if Hordak Prime had the decency to knock her out. If Catra ever broke down or simply cursed at him until the end. If it hurt. 

“ _Catra_ ,” Adora says. “I only want to help.” 

Catra makes a _pshh_ sound. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“I mean it.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Well,” Adora begins. _I want to_ scrapes her throat, raw and pleading. 

At her silence, Catra turns away to stare at the wall again. “I want to go back to sleep. Please.” 

Adora sighs, reaching out her hand, then makes herself pull away. She can do this, at least, this one small thing for her.

* * *

“We have to get that chip off,” Adora says, even though she knows it requires Catra’s cooperation--and that’s still a long ways off. 

The thought makes her groan and throw up her hands. “What can I _do_ with her?” 

“You can try removing the chip,” Entrapta suggests, helpfully. She fiddles at the wires again, tinkering with Darla’s speed, periodically making the ship lurch in starts and stops, which made Bow throw up his hands and say that he needed to lie down or else. 

Adora sighs. “About her emotions.” 

“Ahh...not my area of expertise,” Entrapta says apologetically. 

She has a point, Adora thinks, thought not unkindly. Who can she even ask? Glimmer and Bow have their own...thing going on. There’s Wrong Hordak, but he seems to be going through his own thing right now. 

If they were on Ethertia, she could talk to...she begins ticking off her options on her fingers. Too young. Not sure what was going on there. Forget it. Absolutely not. Married, but eternally separated. A horse. Probably no. Definitely...but in hiding, most likely. Yes, but still strangers, even after all this time--seems a bit personal. 

“Well…” she tries. “If it were you, what would you do?” 

Entrapta seems to not have heard correctly: “If she were a machine, you could...fix her.” 

“I don’t want to _fix_ her,” Adora protests. It sounds too much like Shadow Weaver, clipping parts into perfection. “I want to make her better.” 

“Same thing.” 

“No! I…” Adora tries to articulate the best she can, though she’s never been the best with words. “I want her to _feel_ better. It’s just...it’s just--she’s been through so much, especially with Shadow Weaver, and clawed her way to the top, but never really wanted to claim power; she can seem cold-hearted and closed-off and mean, but she can be funny and tender and just _feels_ with her own heart. I know she can be that person if--but...she’s, she’s so lonely.” 

Her voice chokes; she’s not just talking about Catra, she realizes. 

Entrapta only pats her arm, once. “There, there,” she says, and skips off to attend to Darla.

* * *

She’s still angry. 

It’s wrong, she thinks. She should pick a feeling and stick with it. 

But she remembers: how she tried to get Catra to come with her--not once, but multiple times. How she tried to pull Catra out of the fire and into her arms. How Catra laughed and went back in, yanking her into the flames.

Adora finds herself staring at her hands, trying to get She-Ra to come out again. She thinks of when she saw Catra’s seemingly lifeless form on the ground, tries to summon all the terrible swirling emotions of shock and anger and overwhelming sorrow, but it’s not the same, a copy of what it was. 

She thinks of Mara, of the magic that breathed in Etheria, of destiny, of Light Hope resisting the First One’s programming, of shattering the sword, of raising her hand and shouting _For the honor of Grayskull!_

She thinks of Glimmer and Bow and Bright Moon and the princesses and Sea Hawk and Swift Wind and King Micah. Queen Angella. Even her team, back at the Horde. 

But She-Ra’s out of reach again. 

If Catra was well, she’d challenge her to a duel, Adora thinks. That might be good, getting out the tension like they did as cadets, side-stepping and swiping like a dance. Catra was always faster than her, quick and lethal, but unfocused, as the trainers so often mentioned. Adora was the one with the cool head, the strategies. (They’d probably laugh to see her now. Or shoot her on sight.) 

She wants to throw something against the wall--maybe Catra’s tray at _her_ , for once. 

Or shout, scream, cry: _Tell me! Why did you do all this? To the world, to everyone, to me?_

_Why wasn’t I enough?_

A sob escapes her throat, and she collapses against the nearest wall, buries her face into her hands.

* * *

Catra thrashes in her sleep. 

Adora remembers what Glimmer told her, about Catra laughing over Adora’s “sleep fighting.” 

It’s not as funny now. 

Adora wonders what she dreams about. Horde Prime’s ship? Shadow Weaver? The portal opening? 

She should hate Catra. She’s earned bragging rights, as Mermista would say. There are things she can’t quite forgive Catra for, that have made her hesitate. She thought when Catra pulled the trigger, when the universe devoured everything so hungrily, when Bow and Glimmer disappeared, when Angella died, when she walked away, she would walk away for good. 

Catra (through Hordak Prime) had said knowing Adora was agony, rage and grief and pain ensnaring her. And Adora felt like that sometimes: that they were always locked in combat, sword-crossed. Hanging on _hurt._

But if removed, they felt the pain even more. They separate again and again and again, and it always feels like something can go wrong, a slash of the knife parting ways forever, a risk that doesn’t seem worth it. 

Light Hope had told her to _let go_. Catra never obeyed, as always, but Adora had tried.

And yet, she can’t. It’s one of her failures.

* * *

“Stop visiting me,” Catra snaps, the next time Adora brings a tray. 

Adora moves to put it down on the side of the bed, on the floor--there’s no nightstand, and she doesn’t want a repeat of the throwing incident. 

Catra’s lying in bed, tail curled around her body, knees drawn up to her chest, the back of her shirt soaked through with sweat. Her eyes are narrowed, suspicious, wary. 

Adora puts the tray down with a clatter. 

“No,” she says.

* * *

The buns Glimmer made are delicious--soft with a hint of chewiness and not overly sweet. Glimmer says sometimes they’re stuffed with either savory meats and spices or jellied fruit and lots of sugar, and she’s playfully debating with Bow whether the fruit one’s handier in food fights. 

It’s nice to see them together again; Glimmer and Bow not getting along was like having an anchor missing. As they start recounting a legendary food fight--which was how they became friends, way back when--Entrapta’s ripping hers into bite-sized pieces, chattering around how _awesome_ it was in that meteor field and another hundred ideas to upgrade the ship. Wrong Hordak’s grinning from ear to ear, just taking it all in; it looks slightly wrong on his--or really, Hordak’s--face in general. 

Adora’s still tingling from the adrenaline, her fingertips itching to feel the sword again, and inwardly cheering. She’s She-Ra again; she _did_ it and they’re going home and they can take the fight to Hordak Prime--

And Catra’s staring at her bun like it contains poison, turning it around in her fingers. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out why. Even though Bow and Glimmer invited her to join the circle, she’s still not really part of it--the laughter, the inside jokes, the companionship. 

_Did Catra have any friends in the Fright Zone?_

Adora swallows, and says, “Speaking of food fights, Catra can tell some stories.” 

Catra’s looking at her, surprised, but Glimmer turns away from Bow and grins in Catra’s direction, “Oh, really? Tell us one!” 

Adora silently thanks Glimmer. 

“Well…” Catra starts hesitantly, looking around the circle. “Um, when Adora and I were cadets, there was this guy, Kyle, and the menu that day was more disgusting than usual--”

The more Catra talks, she becomes more animated, acting out the shocked look on Kyle’s face when everyone decided to turn on him, the brown slop flying everywhere, one of the trainers actually getting hit in the face trying to break it up. (The part after was less fun. Adora still had dreams about scrubbing grout and running miles in the very, very early morning.) 

Still, hearing her makes a small door open in Adora’s memory, of her and Catra standing back to back with trays as shields. Catra had been fast back then, too, whizzing around the room with devastating target blows, while Adora grinned with her missing tooth and showed off her newly-learned handspring with almost each throw. 

_Did you see Olivia’s face when I got her in the eyepatch?_ Catra had snickered. _Bull’s eye!_

Adora had tried to scold Catra but laughed instead, lightly pushing Catra’s shoulder. _That’s not nice!_

She looks at Catra now, laughing as freely as any of them, and Catra catches her eye and grins. Adora feels a flush of warmth on her cheeks and ducks her head, but she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

She’s running again, ponytail streaming behind her, bereft of her sword. This time, no branches catch on her hair, no rocks trip her up; her legs are fast and strong, carrying her farther and farther. There’s no laughter this time, only silence, but she still runs, reaching out her hand. 

“Catra!” she calls. 

And suddenly, she’s in a clearing, grass swaying around her ankles, dark blue crystals rising out of the earth. 

Catra’s there, laughing, her hair long again, wild around her face, in her old clothes, sleeves revealing the stripes on her forearms. 

“I’m _here_ ,” she says, poking Adora’s cheek. “I’ve been here all along, you idiot.”

* * *

There’s a knock on her door. 

Adora startles, eyes snapping open and legs whipping to the side of the bed. She doesn’t know what time it is, but knows it’s late -- is something wrong with the ship? Is there another attack, more ships? Is Etheria--somehow--in sight? Is Entrapta going on another space walk? 

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra’s leaning against the doorway, seemingly at ease, but her ears are downturned, arms crossed over her chest, feet already pointed at the direction of the exit. 

“Catra? What is it?” 

“Can’t sleep,” Catra says with a shrug. “Thought I might bother you. Unless…” 

“That’s okay,” Adora says, stepping aside to allow Catra to come in. “I don’t really sleep well, either. Or ever. You know me.” 

There’s a smile--faint, small, but still one. “Oh, yeah. Glimmer mentioned you still do your...thing.” 

“We can’t all sleep through the morning bells,” Adora teases. 

To her surprise, Catra frowns, shuffling her feet. “Well. Not much anymore. Not since…” 

_Since you left._

“I know the feeling,” Adora says, trying to break the tension. “For the longest time, I couldn’t sleep without another person. Bow and Glimmer had to camp out on my floor, or wherever we were at.” 

“They’re good friends,” Catra says quietly. 

Something in her face makes Adora look down at her feet, bare and goose-pimply from the cold floor. “Yeah. They are.” 

Catra gives out a little huff of laughter, almost her old scoff. “I’m surprised how _nice_ they all are. To me. Even Entrapta...after everything.” She stares at her hands. “I...I’m really sorry, you know? About everything. You know that, right?” 

“I do,” Adora says.

“You can go ahead and hate me if you want.” 

“Catra, I can never hate you.” 

Catra scoffs--this time, it’s an actual one--again. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Adora shakes her head. “Really. There were times where I _wanted_ to. That I wished I could.” She hesitates for a moment, then continues, “I _was_ angry at you. Don’t get me wrong. But I could never hate you.” 

Catra stares at her, for so long that Adora’s cheeks begin to heat up again. 

“You really _are_ an idiot,” she says at last, but this time, there’s something different, almost soft, in the edges of her words. 

And looking at her, alone together like this, makes Adora think this: she knows friendship now, and Catra’s on her way. She knows the comfort of companionship and the ease of falling into a crowd, the rockiness with its doubts and shames and fears, the holding on and not letting go. 

Somehow, this is different, something she doesn’t dare yet name, but still knows deep in her bones. 

Adora’s pictured her future, fearfully and with doubt coating the edges, but had an idea of everyone who would be there. Now, there’s one more. 

And this time, Adora holds out her hand. “Stay?” she asks. 

Catra takes it. “Promise.” 


End file.
